It wouldn't be a typical vacation if everything went smoothly.

When Dana and I had arrived in Madeira, I found a restaurant I really wanted to try.  Dana, however, with her extensive list of what is acceptable to eat, was reluctant to go.  At the time she was vegan... no, raw / no, vegan / no, raw... you get the point. That night we ended up settling on a restaurant miles away from the one I desired to eat at.  All throughout our stay I had the nagging urge to try out the restaurant I initially suggested, and was finally granted my wish our last night there.

The ambiance of the restaurant was fantastic. The evening was beautiful, the location couldn't have been better, and our table was located on a balcony overlooking the downtown area of Funchal. The food, we decided, could have been better.  It definitely wasn't what I had envisioned it to be from what the menu suggested.  But, we agreed that the ambiance made up for what the food lacked.

That was, until 3 o'clock the following morning when I woke up to food poisoning.  The weather outside matched how I felt: torrential rains, strong gusts of wind, and hail beating on the windows.  As I made my way from the bed to the bathroom and back I prayed that both my stomach and the weather would calm before our flight scheduled a few hours later. 

Unfortunately luck was not on our side. When we left the hotel at 9am the rains were still pouring, mini rivers were replacing roads, and I was still doubled over in pain.  The agent at the check-in counter informed us that our flight was still scheduled to depart on time, despite the weather. At least there was a small ray of sunshine with that knowledge, or so I thought as I made my way to the bathroom.

But that glimmer of hope was just that, a glimmer.  It faded as quickly as it appeared.  Our flight was delayed... for 5 hours.  It really wouldn't have been too big of a problem if we hadn't been flying easyJet, a British discount airline.  Their flights are only point to point, not connecting, and most flights leave from London.  Meaning, we had to buy a flight to London and then buy a separate flight to Madeira and vice versa - although all in one transaction. 

With that in mind, I quickly started wondering about the last leg of our flight, which we would undoubtedly miss due to the 5 hour delay.  Upon checking with the local ticketing officer at the airport (after I dragged myself out of the bathroom), she suggested I contact the easyJet customer service and provided me a phone number.  I was informed by the customer service agent that due to the fact each flight was deemed a separate contract, and that I was going to miss it - even though it was due to the initial delayed flight -, we would have to buy tickets for a new flight home.

I'm not sure if it was the nausea due to food poisoning, the stress of the flights, or both, but at that moment I had to fight back tears.  I successfully held them back, though, at least long enough to jump online to see which flight to purchase from London the next day.  And then I situated myself comfortably back in the bathroom to wait out a few more hours in the airport.

The turn of events forced us to sleep at the Gatwick airport, again.  (We knowingly had to spend the night on our way to Madeira).  So, once we arrived around 9pm and spoke to the ticketing manager at the airport to see if there was any way we could get our flight situation resolved, (meaning: a reimbursement for having to buy a new flight home after he stated we could have gotten on the next available flight for free), we staked our claim on plush sofas we had eyed during our first overnight stay.

By the time we reached the front door to my apartment at 9 o'clock the following morning, I couldn't have been happier to be home from a week of relaxation.  So I took a day and a half off to enjoy it... and recuperate.

Cultural variety

It's an amazing the number of cultural differences that are found within a 285 square mile island... and we only visited half of it.   From modern amenities to triangular thatch roofed houses, basket weavers to folk dancers, farming plants to farming salmon, each region of the island had it's own unique style and personality.

Good things come to those who wait... but why not get it NOW?

With motion sickness like my sister has, it's not hard to visualize the look she gave me that screamed "are you crazy??" when I suggested we take a day long tour encompassing the eastern portion of the island.  Actually, the only reason she gave in was because the tourists office assured us that the bus would drive no more than 20-30 minutes at a time.

Due to potential weather conditions our trip was traveled in the opposite direction than normal, leading us through the center of the island first and then winding around the coastline. It left us with the opportunity to save the best for last:  a breathtaking view that my sister and I wished we had hours to take in.

And since you're not on the trip, and I'm controlling what I want to show and when, I'm not going to hold back. There will be no suspense here.  No saving the best for last.  No wondering what could have been so beautiful, so peaceful, so majestic as to make us want to stay in that one spot and not leave.

No, because sometimes I like my dessert first... I'm showing you now.

A surfer's desire

My sister, Dana, surfs... so she likes to inform us each, and every, day. The entire time leading up to our island adventure she would ask me repeatedly if she could surf there, and if in the off chance she couldn't, why (and I quote) "in the world" would I have chosen an island like Madeira to visit.  She tried with all her might to get me to make last minute changes to another island... any other island that had surfable waves.

That wasn't going to happen, no matter how hard she tried.  Besides, I knew I was going to stay on the 'favorite sister status' either way. But, just to make sure I'd have a valid reason to stay on the top of her list, we checked with an information desk as soon as we arrived to see if there were any surf spots on the island.  Turns out, there was ... on the opposite side.

Trying to please my sister, and her cravings to surf, I expressed my enthusiasm for going.  Little did I know at the time, she could have cared less and the main reason she was going is because of my "enthusiasm".  The hour and a half long bus ride to Sao Vicente (our destination) was an hour and a half's worth of torture for Dana, who has extreme cases of motion sickness.  All but 30 minutes of that ride we were going up and down switchbacks; her face was nearly green by the time we arrived. But the prospects of surfing nursed her back to health as soon as we exited the bus.

When we reached the surf area, a very small recess in the shoreline, there were a handful of people in the water.  We looked around for a rental shop, but found none.  Instead we stood on a dock watching as those who surfed missed one wave after another. "GO!", Dana would scream, "AHH!  That wave was awesome and you let it go by!"  Or she would exclaim, "Dude! Cut back, cut back ..." and when the surfer would fall she would turn to me and say, "see, he didn't cut back!"  To be quite honest though, most of her lingo went over my head.

So she moaned and she groaned, incensed that she couldn't go out on the water and teach the kooks (pronounced kukes) -apparently a term for beginner surfers - a thing or two. And I, indifferent to it all, just ate my lunch...passionately, because it was THAT good.

Feel the rhythm, feel the rhyme...

Remember in "Cool Runnings" when the recently formed Jamaican bobsled team practiced their moves by piling into a plywood box on wheels and maneuvered their way down a large grassy hill?  Well, go a few thousand miles to the east on another island of sun, switch the plywood box on wheels for a wicker basket on wooden skis and a large grassy hill for paved roads, and you've found yourself at Madeira's famous Monte Toboggan ride.

The toboggan rides, which are steered by two men in white suits and a straw hats, initially started in 1850 as a quick mode of transport to get down the hill into the city of Funchal.  In the early 1900's this mode of transport soon changed from a convenience for the locals to a tourist attraction.  Since then it's become nothing short of a legend and a "must do" for everyone who makes a visit to the island.

In order to get to the toboggans you make your way up the hill by a 10 minute cable car ride that provides phenomenal panoramic views of the island and coastline. As you enter the cable car your picture is taken; when you reach the top, someone is waiting to greet you with your photo for purchase. You can either graciously (and eloquently) decline like we did by stating "um, we'll think about it and, uh, come back", or pay the 10 euros for a picture of you sitting inside of a cable car that's not in the air.

Then when the time comes that you'd like to go back down to the city, you head over to the toboggan rides.  (You could also go back down via cable car, which is cheaper, but quite lame in comparison).  The entry point is filled with toboggan drivers playing cards, standing around in groups and relaxing on the wicker baskets.  The ambiance is full of peace and relaxation... and then you enter the wicker death trap that speeds down narrow streets as you slide sideways, barely missing the ravine like ditches that line the roads.  You think about all the bones in your body and how you love them just the way they are. You pray that the skilled drivers who are steering the toboggan from behind don't allow you to flip or hit an oncoming car that could shatter every last one of those bones you internally expressed your love for. But most of all you laugh and try to carry on conversations with the drivers who are out of breath from running and steering and running some more.

When you reach the bottom, which is actually only half way down the mountainous hill, you're again greeted with someone presenting a picture of you being driven down the mountain.  You could pay the 10 euros to remember the once in a lifetime experience, or you could graciously decline like we (meaning my sister) did by saying, "haha...what?!  Please Claire, don't buy it... you look good but I look like crap." To which you take over the situation and say, like I did,  "since I'm an awesome sister and only aim to please my family, we won't buy the picture. But thanks anyway... ".  They may persist by exclaiming, "but what better way to remember the ride than by this great picture?", because they are salesmen after all.  You then put on your sweetest smile and reply, "oh, not to worry, we already have that taken care of.  See?"

Lucky timing.

When my sister and I went to Madeira Island three short weeks ago we were greeted by lush green mountains, wonderful weather, brightly colored flowers and beautiful blue waters.

Of course it wasn't completely perfect.  It did rain, especially hard on the day we were scheduled to leave, but that's a story for another day.  Needless to say, no one would have predicted a months worth of rain would ever fall in 8 hours like it did on Saturday. The island and many lives have changed in 3 short weeks after we came and left. 

An island that once looked like this:

currently looks like this, with many months of repair ahead:

Neverending winter

You'll be hard pressed to find anyone here who doesn't complain about the rain, me included - normally. But I have nothing but praise for the rains that have begun falling recently, because it means one thing: it's too warm to snow!

Ask any Dutch person and they'll tell you that winter is generally mild, with 2-3 weeks of bitter cold weather.  Not this year though. This year we've broken a record. A record which I truly wish would have waited a few more years down the road.  I've never liked the extreme cold.  I've never liked the snow.  Stick me in a place where cold and snow are combined for an extended period of time, I'll start wondering what I did wrong - because there would have to be some reason why I was placed in my own version of hell.  That, dear friends, is what this winter has been.

Gratefully, months before, I had planned for a 5 day winter escape.  Was it inspiration?  Luck?  Sheer brilliance on my part?   I don't know.  All that matters is that the last weekend of January I left the dead of winter to enjoy it's antithesis:  Paradise.

A Sorta Fairytale

If I was living in my own dream reality, or had I been born into royalty, I'd know exactly where I'd want to spend my life. All my days would be spent in the Pena Palace. It's situated high above the hills of Sintra with breathtaking views of the landscape below in all directions. On a clear day it can be seen all the way from Lisbon. There are acres and acres of gardens surrounding the palace, and even more acres of a tropical like forest to explore. But the most striking feature of all is the palace itself. The design, the color, the beauty... no wonder it's one of the Seven Wonders of Portugal.

But neither fairytale character nor royalty live in the Palace any longer, since Portugal is now a Republic. The current descendants of the royal family live in the valley of Sintra. Instead the palace is open to the public, so that as they tour the palace they can dream of a life that would actually allow them to live there... even if it only were for a week.

The city of Sintra the perfect backdrop for the Palace. The quaint city is full of character and plenty of delicious pastries to boot! Since it's located at the bottom of the hill, you're provided with two options of reaching the palace and Moorish Castle which is just below the palace, if you don't have a car. A) You can hike up the hill for 5 miles, which some gung-ho tourists do, or B) take the lazy route and pay for a bus ride up. And even though the cost of the bus ride is as much as the round trip train ticket from Lisbon to Sintra, we can attest that it's worth every penny.

"You haven't really visited Lisbon without eating a Pastel de Belem"

Like I have stated before, there's nothing better than combining my love of travel with my passion for food, and I discovered that Lisbon is my haven. The food there was phenomenal; from the most inventive and delicious soups to melt in your mouth steaks. And every city in Portugal, as it seems, has it's own signature torte.

So what better way to discover Portugal than by eating our way through it. (side note: Between the times that I feel the need to lose 5-10lbs, I find myself so grateful that I don't weigh 75lbs more than I do). We started Saturday morning off right by eating at the city's historic bakery, the Brasileiro, before walking a few miles along the river to Belem.

Now, the city of Belem is most widely known for 2 things: the tower and the torte. The tower, built between 1515-1521, was the city's fortress for a few hundred years. The main level of the tower was where it housed it's military defense. The tower itself is a few stories high, and only has one stairwell - narrow and circular at that. I'm sure that was no problem back in the days of it's glory, when most of the militia stayed on the bottom level, but when there are hoards of tourists going up and down the stairs it gets a little tricky. The views from the top were breathtaking and the inside of the tower was quite neat, so smashing yourself up against the wall in order for someone to make their way down the stairs was quite worth it.

Lisbon locals will be the first to tell you that although you're walking around their city, if you haven't eaten a pastel de Belem, all that walking will have been in vain-- because you can't experience Lisbon without trying one. And of course we had our priorities straight! So before we toured the tower we stopped at the nearby restaurant and had the torte. Words can not describe it's goodness, so I pried my mouth away from the dessert long enough to take a picture, and let the torte speak for itself. Yummy!

Where in the world is Carmen SanDiego?

Lisbon is located at the mouth of the Tejo River, so it has amazing water views from any of the the million and one hills in the city. The hills themselves were such blessed sights to behold, and were definitely a welcomed treat. Oh! how it allowed us to work some muscles that, for me, have been on hiatus since arriving in the Netherlands. And our room, which was in what's considered a B&B (without the breakfast), was located on the most famous hill- the Barro Alto.

Now, before I go on I have to admit I had a hard time remembering the fact I was in Lisbon. It was so easy to feel like we were climbing the hills of San Francisco, with it's cable cars and the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. Or, that we were across the water from Pao de Acucar looking at the Christus in Rio de Janeiro. Or even that we were strolling the streets of Jerusalem while inside the Sao Jorge Castle walls. To be quite honest, I'd often stop and exclaim "this is totally tripping me out!"

We spent the first afternoon relaxing at the look-out points, walking the streets/hiking the hills of Lisbon, and discovering the multiple views of the city from the castle walls. We were actually amazed at how much we had seen in just a few short hours. The city is absolutely beautiful and completely charming.

Tile work graces almost every building and the rest of the city is painted in vibrant, albeit chipping, colors. Guitarist serenade you where ever you are, old men play cards under shaded trees, and it takes every ounce of willpower imaginable to not eat your way though the city - because the food is just THAT GOOD.

Fala Portugues?

I often find myself stopping to think of how fortunate I am to live in Europe. The beauty, the varying cultures, the history, the food, ....the weekend trips to Portugal. "What?"- you say, "weekend trips to Portugal?" Ok, so let me rephrase: the beauty, the varying cultures, the history, the food, the occasional weekend trips -- this past one being Portugal. There really is no better way of life.

We arrived in Lisbon on Friday afternoon and I was basking in the sound of the Portuguese language from that moment on. I loved.... LOVED... walking down the street and hearing nothing but Portuguese being spoken. And, since my friend Mathea doesn't speak the language, I was able to play translator the entire weekend.

That said, Brazilian Portuguese and Portuguese from Portugal differ slightly in a few words, and a lot in pronunciation. The Portuguese make a lot of "sssshh" sounds when they speak, so I had to listen carefully and filter out all the excess "sssshh-ing" in order to understand everyone. I'm sure if we had spent more than 3 days down there my ears would have acclimated and I would have understood every word. But, that just provides yet another reason to return.